Are baby boomers panting for Elderly Erotica?
Mel and Shar, two friends of a certain age, say, “Absolutely!”
So, despite the fact that neither lady has ever watched a porn video or read anything steamier than Eighties romances, they decide Elderly Erotica is their ticket to fame and fortune.
Surely, at least a few of their fellow boomers—who were once into sex, drugs, and rock ‘n roll—remain interested in something spicier than the Senior’s Menu at Black-eyed Pea.
Can Mel and Shar start a successful porn business by filming certain sexual acts—later TBD–with a smartphone?
Can they write successful erotica with only a passing acquaintance of four-letter-words, not to mention marginal computer skills?
Follow the adventures of Mel McCartney and Shar Ledowsky, as they kind of, sort of explore the world of Elderly Erotica.
And, if they become porn clowns who host political porn parties in order to increase voter registration; are picketed by protestors of their C***y, C** and C**ks: Recipes for Desire cookbook; and become intimately acquainted with one Hot Shot police officer along the way, well…
That just proves Mel and Shar are up for anything.
Okay, to clarify:
They’re up for a couple of things…
Targeted Age Group:: 35+
What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
Whenever one of my best friends–dating back to middle school and more decades than I like to count– visits, we inevitably end up enjoying laugh fests. We dish about our marriages, ridiculous life decisions, the indignities of aging, and the craziness of politics. But our number one topic of conversation inevitably boils down to: Whatever happened to us boomers? And since my friend and I are definitely not ready to go quietly into that good night, I decided to write a very fictionalized version of two women a tiny bit similar to my friend and me.
How Did You Come up With Your Characters?
Mel and Shar, the two main characters, are a very fictionalized version of a childhood friend and me. That is, if I were really into porn, and my friend actually had dreams of becoming a porn clown. And if she enjoyed cooking, and I actually lived in an English cottage. And if I really ended up in a kind of, sort of relationship with a hot retired police officer who rents a non-existent apartment over my real-life garage. Still hoping for that last one!
"I saw an ad for a Senior Swap Meet," Shar said to her longtime friend, Mel. "Which gave me an idea."
"Of course it did." Echoing Robert Redford's comment to Paul Newman in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, Mel said, "You just keep thinking, Shar. That's what you're good at."
"I am, aren't I?" Shar finished the last bite from the carrot cake they shared. Their ritual before beginning and ending one of their adventures. Seated in a cozy couch at Montagueâ€™s, a local tea and coffee shop. "Okay, well, I'm thinking this would be the perfect time to get rid of some of the junk we've accumulated over the years. And maybe make enough money to enjoy lunch at the Broadmoor."
"My garage could use some emptying out," Mel agreed.
Whenever Shar's husband, Gary, was out of town, Shar would scour the internet and the Colorado Springs Gazette's "Go" section for another installment of "Shar and Mel's Excellent Adventures," as they referred to their girls' days/nights out. Since Gary was a car junkie, he and his pals would often disappear to do whatever they did with their muscle cars and restored whatevers. This time Gary had driven to Nebraska to attend an Antique Corvette Show. Meaning Shar, and by extension, Mel, had three days to play. Tommy's past absences had led to weekend courses in beekeeping—fascinating though undeniably cranky insects; lessons in line dancing—both hated country western music; tryouts for a universalist church's gay choir—okay, neither could sing, they were both straight and the gay choir consisted solely of men; attending a cooking course that taught French cuisine (in French), and a self defense course in which the instructor had quit after saying life was too short to waste trying to teach Shar how to escape a two-handed choke hold from behind.
Following their most recent—and only marginally successful–outing, a half day's "meditation" inside a sweat lodge, Shar reiterated her fall-back philosophy. "It got us out of the house, didn't it?"
"And all that heat and steam had to be good for our complexions."
"Your face did kind of glow afterwards," Shar said. "But next time we're better off just booking a day at the spa."
"You just keep thinking, Shar. That's what you're good at."
Actually Mel was pretty much open to anything her childhood friend suggested. Mel's kids were grown and gone and she was happily divorced, meaning she could do anything she pleased. Whatever that meant. And sometimes she DID feel as if she were washed up and irrelevant. And certainly in a rut.
Which was why she'd agreed to what they would later refer to as one of their more unfortunate adventures: The Incident of the Chippendales.
It had been around 2012, she'd been newly divorced and Shar had decided an evening ogling sexy male dancers would be a great way to introduce Mel to the singles scene. (As if Shar, who'd been married for thirty years, actually knew anything about the singles scene.)
They'd dressed in black cocktail dresses—which they assured each other were always in fashion–and slipped on their plantar fasciitis pumps, which both agreed were so stylish no one would ever guess they were kind of, almost, old lady orthopedic shoes. Â Mel accessorized with her usual eye catching bracelets, necklaces and earrings while Shar piled her long, naturally grey hair atop her head. Feeling daring, naughty and marginally ridiculous, they'd set off for their rendezvous with the Chippendales.
"I hear most male dancers are gay," Mel commented, as they drove north on I-25 to Chapel Hills Mall. "And, if not, they're probably younger than my sons."
"You'd better have brought a lot of dollar bills like I told you," Shar countered. "Gay or not, you can cop a feel while stuffing money down their speedos."
"Speedos?" Mel wrinkled her nose. "I thought only Europeans wore those." The image of a tiny strip of cloth stuck up a hairy man's crack was definitely not a turn on. Nor the idea of a sweaty, gyrating hard body thrusting his crotch in her face. (Well, maybe that would be okay.) "What if they start dancing in front of us and something falls out?"
"Don't worry," said Shar. "If they get really close, we won't be able to see anything anyway without our reading glasses."
"The Incident of the Chippendales" had been pretty much a disaster. When Shar and Mel pulled up near the address, they hadn't found a nightclub with techno music wafting into the night and lines of eager females crowding its entrance.
They'd found a pet store.
"Precious Pets," read the huge neon sign above its front.
"Must be a euphemism for something," Mel mused, after they'd parked. Together they surveyed the establishment.
"But wouldn't you think a nightclub would have way fewer windows?"
Or, as they approached the brightly lighted interior and could see inside, way fewer pet supplies?
"Maybe all the action's in the back," Mel said. "Like a speakeasy."
“And there’s definitely a “Chippendales!” banner in the window.”
Yes, there was. An enormous "Chippendales!" in red letters on one side of the sliding glass doors and "Sale!" on the other.
Once inside, Mel and Shar looked around for signs pointing them in the proper direction. When they didn't see anything other than the usual rows of pet food, pet toys and lots of cages near the front containing a mixture of the usual adorable animals, they approached a tired looking sales clerk.
"Excuse me," said Mel in a pleasant voice. She always tried to be polite to those who worked "ordinary" jobs, as she herself had done. (Mel was an old fashioned liberal who, after a few too many Tequila Sunrises, had to be restrained from singing "Solidarity Forever.") "I hope you can help us. Where can we find the Chippendales?"
The sales clerk waved a hand at the array of stacked cages. One row was clearly marked "Chippendales."
Mel and Shar exchanged puzzled glances. Something was definitely off. "What does that mean?" Shar whispered, eyeing the tiny wire containers. "Are the Chippendales midgets?"
Shar and Mel approached the cages. Inside were rows of fluffy hamsters peering at them through bright button eyes. Shar pointed to the overhead banner, a banner they hadn't previously noticed. "Chippendales: Precious Pets" Semi-Annual Hamster sale."
Mel frowned. "Chippendales must be a play on words. They must be referring to Chip and Dale."
"But Chip and Dale weren't hamsters, were they?" Shar had never had children and even as a girl had preferred Looney Tunes to Disney. Her knowledge of anthropomorphic rodents was sketchy at best.
They returned to the weary looking clerk. "This is false advertising," Mel complained, forgetting her bond with fellow workers. "Chip and Dale were chipmunks."
The sales lady managed a half-smile, as if this wasn't the first time that fact had been pointed out to her. "We actually don't carry chipmunks. They don't make very good pets. They can be very needy, destructive, and stubborn—"
"Like your ex-husband," Shar commented, nudging Mel.
"…hamsterrs are every bit as cute and much more pleasant to be around," the sales lady finished.
Mel was suddenly aware of how ridiculous she and her friend must look in their totally inappropriate dresses and shod in—let's not sugarcoat it–orthopedic clodhoppers. And, since there weren't a bunch of other would-be Chippendale fans lurking around Precious Pets, somehow Shar had misinterpreted something. Nobody's fault but theirs.
So Mel did the only thing she could possibly do under the circumstances. "I'd like to purchase a pair of hamsters, please. For my grandson."
And since Mel had the most precocious grandson in the state of Colorado, she wasn't surprised when three-year-old Tristan had named his new pets "Ham" and "Ster."
After the Incident of the Chippendales, Shar promised that, when scouting out future adventures, she'd read the fine print.
And she had. No more embarrassing glitches. They'd enjoyed a lovely tour of Glen Eyrie Castle followed by afternoon tea. They'd attended Frontier Days and took regular walks in the Garden of the Gods. Sand sculptures in Cripple Creek; hikes outside Woodland Park. A tour of the Air Force Academy. The Annual Palmer Lake Yule Log Hunt.
Their girls' days/nights out unfolded flawlessly.
Until the Senior Swap Meet.
A seemingly innocuous event.
That changed our friends' lives.
And directly led to Mel and Shar's Erotic Adventures.
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